Interviewing the Hidden Hero

Its often said that no one understands what they sign up for in life when the take a decision. Neither did I, when I chose to pursue my dream of being a journalist. But it wasn’t until that fateful day, that I really experienced a powerful instance of what the profession can offer you.

I was sitting on my bed, thinking about the reporting assignment handed to me and the rest of my batch, to go outside and report a news story... Something WORTH the effort and the reader’s time. That is when I got this idea. Call it impulsive or crazy... but I did something which made me feel different, a feeling which isn’t easy to describe. Most 17 year olds would shiver at the prospect of facing and talking to a sex worker, I was no different. The idea seemed so easy... Offer your professor a glimpse into the life of a person’s struggles, which would suffice in providing an impetus to for my work to be called commendable.

So I went roaming one Sunday morning, near the railway station to look in its dark nook and crannies. The beggars who stood outside were a pitiful sight and a story on them would have made a heart warming read by itself, but I was hell-bent on getting what I came for, I was NOT ready to settle for anything less. A few asks around later, I came to this shop, where 5 women were sitting in a circle. I walked up to them and approached the one nearest to me, addressing her in Hindi I asked her whether I could speak to her for a few minutes. Nodding slowly, but making her apprehensions no less clear, she moved outside. The conversation which followed, had been the most eye-opening one I’ve ever had...

Just standing in front of a person who was struggling to sustain herself and her family, burdened by the glaring fact that I was well dressed and looked well off,  made me feel extremely guilty. The 10 minute conversation was something that I wish some of my friends could hear, it would make the most egoistic of heads rip apart in shame. I was talking to a 30 year old, who had lost her husband to a roadside brawl 7 years back... with a baby infant to take of. Selling your body was a chilling prospect, convincing your soul to do it took an entirely different perspective of logic. She told me about how it was humiliating to be treated with utter disrespect by heartless “customers” and how the dismayed feeling amplified when money-hungry cops demanded a cut for letting them sit out on the streets.

My hand was shaking constantly as I wrote, the beads of sweat would randomly drop under the crisp summer sun onto my notebook, but I knew nervousness caused it more than the dry heat. After a little more time, I thanked her for giving me more than my reporting assignment. She had taught me, in 10 short minutes, what millions of kids around the world will learn 10 years later when seeds of maturity would bloom into flowers of empathy. When I finished writing the news article, trying to edit and re-edit the article to justify the immensely brave person I was writing it on, I got a few raised eyebrows, a few unconvinced glances. I didn’t mind, knowing it was something I was glad could get a glimpse into. In the end, I got a lot of praises too... one of the few instances where I actually felt proud of what I chose to do.

 http://journalismcultureinindia.blogspot.com/2010/10/memoirs-of-indian-geisha-retold.html